


The Lost Records

by reverseblackholeofwords, RubberSoles19



Series: Devil May Care [9]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Game Theory - Fandom, NateWantsToBattle - Fandom, Supernatural, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst, FNAF!AU, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Monster - Freeform, Platonic Relationships, Step-brothers!AU, Tumblr Prompts, nothing more graphic than the rest of the series, supernatural!AU, various elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reverseblackholeofwords/pseuds/reverseblackholeofwords, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubberSoles19/pseuds/RubberSoles19
Summary: Various prompts from Tumblr, unfinished drabbles, and little bits and bobs of the series that aren't necessarily canon, but sure are fun.Will Contain Spoilers for the Main Series!!
Relationships: Jonathan Indovino & Nathan Sharp, Jonathan Indovino & Rosanna Pansino, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Matthew Patrick & Nathan Sharp, Matthew Patrick/Stephanie Patrick, Rosanna Pansino & Matthew Patrick, Rosanna Pansino & Nathan Sharp, Rosanna Pansino & Stephanie Patrick, Stephanie Patrick & Nathan Sharp
Series: Devil May Care [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646251
Kudos: 11





	1. "Oh God, it's sticky." - by Reverse

“Um, is it supposed to look like that?” Matt leaned his nose near the cake pan to where his… creation was still bubbling slightly. With a fork, Matt poked at the “cake.” He was pretty sure he’d read somewhere that if you could poke a fork into the cake and it came out without any batter on it, that meant it was done. Only when he poked the cake, it stuck to the fork and came away in a gooey, stringy mess that hissed and bubbled.

“OH GOD, IT’S STICKY!” Matt dropped the fork and shuddered. Whatever that was, it was definitely _not_ a cake. Probably even less edible. He was pretty sure it classified as a living organism at this point.

Behind him, Ro poked her head into the kitchen of the Roadhouse. The Patricks were visiting for the weekend of their anniversary, and not that she minded Matt using her kitchen, Ro was a little confused to see him there. “Um, Matthew, honey?”

He turned around to her, shoulders slumped and expression drooping so low it was nearly touching the floor. “Hey, Ro…”

She giggled at him and came over to inspect his work. “What have you been - OH JIMINY CHRISTMAS! Matt, what have you _done_?”

Matt scratched his ear bashfully and chewed the corner of his lip as the cake oozed out of the pan and towards the floor like the Blob. “Well, I was trying to make a surprise birthday cake for Stephanie, but it… didn’t go so well.”

Ro looked around at the ingredients he’d used. They were certainly all cake ingredients, but how he’d managed to create something so… terrifying, she would never understand. Until she glimpsed a book tucked halfway beneath a sack of flower. She plucked it up with a gasp. “Matthew Patrick, please don’t tell me that you used this recipe to make your cake…”

Matt looked at the book over her shoulder, still pouting. “Why? It’s your cookbook right? Jimmy said it was…”

Ro snapped the book closed, hissing, “I’m going to have to have a talk with that giant, scheming toe nail.” Then she batted her eyelashes sweetly up at Matt and patted his cheek. “Honey, this is a witch’s spellbook some hunter left in a booth a week ago.” Matt’s jaw dropped, and Ro swiped up the cake pan, dumped it into the trash can, and closed the lid tight for good measure.

“The gesture is cute, and I know that Steph will just love that you tried to make something for her. But from now on,” with a wink, Ro raised her spoon and spun it in the air by her head with a bright smile, “maybe you should leave the cooking to me.”


	2. "You won't like the truth." - by Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You won't like the truth." With Matt and Steph?

Stephanie came home from work one day to find the apartment seemingly empty. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that Matt had gone out for the day, maybe to get groceries or take Skip for a check-up. But she did know better.

Steph slid open the door to their closet and found Matthew huddled inside. He looked small with his knees pulled to his chest, asleep in the corner behind the hanging clothes and a small rack of shoes. His laptop was still open, the screen dark, his notes resting on top of the keyboard.

She knelt down, resting her hands on her knees, and she watched him sleep for a moment. Part of her didn’t want to wake him. He slept so rarely, after all, but this couldn’t be good for him, not huddled up the way he was. So she reached one hand forward and touched his arm.

“Matthew?”

His eyes opened suddenly, body shifting to shield himself like he expected - she wasn’t sure what, but after a moment, Matt relaxed. He shifted, tugging the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands and glancing away from Stephanie’s face. “Guess I didn’t hear you come in.”

Steph let her head fall to one side, her lips pressed together. “Are you okay?” He nodded, and she slid in beside him and rested her back against the wall. Their shoulders brushed, one of Matt’s button-down shirts hanging between them. “Why were you in here?”

Matt fidgeted with the end of one of his sleeves. “I think better in here, and I’ve been recording myself - just thoughts and ideas in audio files.” He rubbed at his wrist. “Hurts less after hours and hours of writing, you know.”

She reached over and tugged on the leg of his sweatpants. “Matt, the truth. Please.”

“You won’t like the truth,” he muttered against the back of his hand, gazing out of the closet with quiet, empty eyes. “And I don’t want to make you sad again. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I would’ve gotten a shower before you came home.” He looked down at himself. “I really have been trying, I swear. It’s just that-”

Stephanie laid her head on his shoulder and laced her fingers with his. “You don’t have to pretend for me. It’s okay. Recovery - it’s not a straight line.”

Matt squeezed her hand, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I know.” He leaned over and kissed her head. “I know. Thank you.” He smirked. “Did I mention I saw a spider in here earlier?”

“Matthew!” Stephanie scuttled out of the closet so fast, bounded up onto the bed like a spider might crawl up her leg at any moment, and Matt cackled at her. She was fuming at him, cheeks red and eyes narrowed. “Matthew Patrick! You better be lying to me!”

He couldn’t stop giggling, slapping his knee. “Oh, Stephanie, you won’t like truth about that either…”


	3. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” With Nate and Ro, maybe?

It wasn’t that hunters didn’t talk to each other about anything outside of their most recent (and probably exaggerated) conquest of the hunting variety. The simple reality was that new gossip was hard to find, much less gossip more exciting than wiping out a family of ghouls that lived in a morgue by using your own flesh as bait (because that certainly wasn’t exaggerated).

It was understandable, then, that Rosanna Pansino hiring a new lackey to help around the Roadhouse wouldn’t be worth it’s weight in spit around the rumor-mill. If Nate had heard this, he probably would have been offended at first, but then relieved if he stopped and thought about it. He was barely 25 and already had more enemies than vampire did fangs (and those replenished just about every time the blood-sucker fed). If his new employment wasn’t hot gossip, than he stood a better chance of some old hunters with hackles still raised never knowing exactly where he was, and doing whatever they might like with that information.

Of course, this was Nathan Smith, son of the legendary John Smith, and even more widely known for being the biggest asshole this side of the Riviera. So this simple fact, was, in fact, the hottest of gossip.

It was a sticky, muggy night at the Roadhouse, one of those days awkwardly in the middle of the week, and the bar was currently empty. Nate, having been promised a night off, had locked things up and retreated to his little room in the back, but the sweltering heat that felt like a pack of Hell Hounds had been sweating up the joint preventing any form of relaxation. So, resourceful man that he was, he opened a few windows to try to get some circulation going. It was only because he was at the windows at all that he even saw the pack of pick-ups arrive, and felt an icy tendril of recognition lick it’s way up his spine.

“Hey, Ro!” the leader, a man as handsome as a lamppost and about as bright as a bulldog, barked towards the Roadhouse, posing on the side of his truck like he didn’t look as threatening as a fly on the side of flytape. “Anybody home?”

Nate glared out at them, the blinds and darkness concealing him, until someone not interested in proper vehicle courtesy turned on their high beams, and a slab of light slapped him right across the face.

“Light’s not on,” another gnat spoke, the leader’s face splitting into a yellow, toothy grin and humid laughter puffed from within.

“No, but someone’s home.” He vanished into his car suddenly as the others barked in mature laughter, Nate squinting slightly to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

He got his answer when the man reemerged, holding a molotov cocktail. A _flaming_ molotov cocktail. Nate didn’t bother questioning why this Ivy League contender was carrying _molotov cocktails_ in the shotgun seat of his motor vehicle. He was more worried about the simple 1st grade experiment of mixing very real fire with very dry wood, as that was what the Roadhouse was made up of.

“Hey, Smithy,” he howled, waving the flaming bottle of alcohol through the air, “we know you’re in there. And you know what you did, you little shit! So why not come out and give your old Uncle Benny an apology, or else we’ll light this whole damn tavern on fire faster than you can make the backdoor!”

Nate had no interest in apologizing to Benny (who certainly wasn’t his uncle), nor in making a dash for the backdoor. First, his Firebird was parked around the side. Second, he really couldn’t let the Roadhouse go up in flames, not when he had the chance to stop it.

He yanked the front door open, sauntering into the heat and considering that he could claim the place spontaneously combusted due to the weather.

“Sup, snotwad,” he smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What’s wrong, Benny, Biggersons run out of your favorite brand of kibble?”

Benny, in all of his smarts, slammed the molotov cocktail onto the gravel beneath his feet, marching towards Nate. To his credit, Nate didn’t flinch, not even as Benny grabbed him with both meaty hands and stationed him rather roughly against the wall.

He did flinch when someone - while Benny was wailing on him with two oversized fists - suggested to string him up and take him for a roll around the gravel.

Roadrash wasn’t a good look on him.

* * *

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Ro got back, not that Nate could blame her. If he had somewhere else to go in this heat, he would too. Course, with the way his vision was blurring as he spat out more blood onto the floor of his little room, he figured it wasn’t smart for him to be going anywhere.

“Nate? Nate, you here somewhere? I see you figured out how to get the windows open, you sly dog. But there’s rain coming so we should probably - OH MY GOD!!”

Nate flinched when she yelled, running to his side in a blonde and brunette blur and kneeling before him.

“Nate - what happened?! You’re a mess!”

“Yeah, I know, thus,” he motioned to his face with one finger that he hoped wasn’t broken. “Someone wanted to chat last night.”

“Chat?!” She barked, grabbing his forearm in her tiny hands and lifting him to his feet with about as much success as trying to steady a giraffe with a fig life. But Nate stood, letting her drag him towards the bar and hunkered onto a stool. “That’s not a chat, Nate! They - what would convince you to chat with them?!”

He shrugged as she whirled out of his vision again, heels clicking as she buzzed around. “It was either that, or they expanded the booze collection. Maybe we should start selling molotovs.”

“And you talked to them?!” Furious green eyes were in his vision suddenly, and he blinked. “They threatened to burn this place to the ground, and you _talked to them_! Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?!”

Thankfully, he couldn’t answer before Ro started scraping a soft, damp rag against the dried blood all over his face. It was like the most soothing torture he’d ever experienced.

“I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”

“Aw,” he grinned and she tried to wipe it off his face, “you do care.”

“What,” she shook her head, picking up another rag, “did you do to tick someone off that much?”

“Well,” he blinked at her, “I once called bullshit on his hunting story.”

Suddenly, it felt like the air was sucked out from around him as Ro pulled back quickly, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Okay, so maybe I wasn’t totally confident that you can’t catch ghouls with flesh that hasn’t dried out yet. So sue me.”

Ro sighed, stepped closer, and got back to work. Nate slipped his eyes closed and let her.

Rivets of cool water ran down his sweaty skin as outside, the rain started.


	4. "Take a deep breath" - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Take a deep breath" / "I didn't mean to hurt you" with the disaster bros?

“Take a deep breath.”

Matt couldn’t suppress the snicker that stretched across his face and out his through his mouth. He wiggled his shoulders a little and quirked his eyebrows towards Nate.

“And what next,” he smiled, “yoga?”

“If it will get you to relax, I’d try just about anything,” Nate replied, considerably less humor in his voice than in his brother’s. Matt sighed and dropped the pose, noting how Nate still looked like he could attack at any moment, even with one hip swayed outward and hands limply at his sides.

Right now, they were at a local park, on some hidden stretch of grass, squaring off. Gym shorts and t-shirts were their own, though Nate had wrapped their wrists so they wouldn’t actually hurt themselves or each other. Not that Matt thought he actually could hurt Nate if he tried.

John had never been good at sparring with Matt, there was too much pent up rage there, so the task had fallen to Nate. But Nate was never good at forcing his big brother to do anything he didn’t want to, and Matt hating sparring. Getting up close and personal and using his own body as a weapon? He’d rather use something with a longer range and more force behind the blow than he could ever hope to muster up.

But, he’d agreed to let Nate give him a refresher course if they were going to start hunting again. Even if he hated it.

“I am relaxed,” Matt replied, rolling out his shoulders again just to prove the point.

Nate shook his head. “Dude, you’re about as relaxed as a young trainer at their first gym battle.”

Matt frowned. “You’re comparing throwing a punch at you to a video game?”

“Yes, because video games get you all anxious and upset on the inside as well as the out. You’re all worked up inside. You can’t even breathe properly.”

As much as he hated to admit Nate was right, he was. Matt took another deep breath, and it came and left easily enough, but there was no loosening the knot his chest was still clenched in.

“Stop stalling,” he finally said. “Or stop letting me stall. Just get this over with.”

Nate shrugged and to Matt’s horror, casually walked over to him.

“First thing, we need to work on your stance.” Grabbing Matt’s wrists, he positioned them in the air, using his own fingers to uncurl Matt’s bony fists while muttering something about long fingers. “No fists. Not unless you’re about to actually punch something. Open palms, grabby fingers.”

“I-” Matt frowned, “I thought we were sparring.”

“We are.” Suddenly, Nate smacked Matt, slid around, and had him on one knee and in a loose chokehold. Matt let out a strangled noise, feeling himself lean back into Nate’s chest in fear as he spine arched.

“Relax,” Nate said. “You gotta trust that I’m not going to hurt you, man. And you can’t hurt me either. Just let me do my thing and stop thinking so much.”

Something conniving twisted in Matt’s gut, the thought that he couldn’t hurt Nate lighting a fire of some description inside him. Actually, it was probably the blow to his ego he was feeling more than anything.

He threw his hands back to where he visualized Nate’s neck would be, grabbed fabric, and yanked, effortlessly ducking and craning forwards enough to hurl Nate over his shoulder and to the grass below their feet.

At least, that’s what he visualized happening. Instead, he heard Nate whail, release him, and stagger backwards, Matt falling without the sudden support.

He spun around, scrambling to his feet and hovering over Nate, who clutched at his face.

“Oh God - what happened? What did I do? Are you alright?!”

Nate laughed, finally straightening and removing his hands from his eye, which was bloodshot. He blinked it a couple times.

“Nice aim, numbrod.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Matt objected, shoulders falling slack. “I just…”

“Hey, hey,” Nate took his shoulder with one hand, head falling to the side sympathetically. “I get it. You were freaked out and thus impatient, and just wanted to get this show on the road.”

Regarding him carefully, hoping he hadn’t managed to damage Nate’s brain as well as his eyeball, Matt’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that what you think happened?”

“Yeah,” Nate shrugged, hand not releasing Matt’s shoulder as he smirked at him. “Guess I got your _point_.”

Nate cried out again when Matt slapped him, the younger brother laughing loudly.


	5. "Poke it with a stick," - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're still doing requests, then can you do "I've been looking forward to this"/"Poke it with a stick" with some good ol' brotherly Matt & Nate?

It was hours ago that John had dropped the boys off in another motel room that smelled like pine and cigarette smoke and vanished, and Matt’s stomach was beginning to growl.

“You finish those cookies?” he asked, and Nate didn’t even look up from the pages of his latest last ditch effort to keep his grades up. It wasn’t that Nate needed the extra credit, he’d still be comfortably within the realm of acceptable grades he, John, and Mary (mostly he and Mary) had discussed when Nate moved in and transferred to another new school. But Matt knew that Nate considered his grades important, if for no other reason than to make Mary glow a little with happiness, so he had agreed to read another pointless book and write another pointless book report on it.

Doesn’t mean he was enjoying it.

“Yeah. You gave them to me.”

“Well you were fidgeting. You can’t read when you’re fidgeting.” Matt turned his attention back to the television, but when a fast food commercial came on, he sighed. Turning of the TV, he grabbed his shoes and jacket.

This time, Nate did look up.

“Can I come?”

“Have you finished the first half?”

“No,” the kid pouted. He hated reading, and he hated that Matt had only made him promise to finish the first half of the novella before watching any cartoons.

“I’ll get you a happy meal,” Matt smiled, grabbing the crumbled bill from the table that John had so graciously left them and did some quick mental calculations. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and get a boy’s toy this time.”

“You keep getting me a girl’s instead.”

“Hey,” Matt shrugged, stepping into the evening air, “like I said, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

It didn’t take long to find the closest fast food joint, grab plenty of dinner for the two of them (John would get the leftovers, if there were any), and head back.

The scent of cigarettes had finally left his nose when another scent tickled it, something that smelled like rot, old lakesides, and the color green. Matt’s nose curled and he paused on the doorstep to the motel room, looking around.

“Nate,” he poked his head inside and dropped the bag on the windowsill next to the door, “come ‘ere.”

Frowning, but curious, Nate rolled off the bed, slipped his sneakers on, and followed, laces flapping around his ankles.

The scent lead them around the corner of the building, only growing stronger the closer they got. Then, back behind the acidic smelling dumpster and the clunking away air conditioner units tucked among some pokey bushes, they discovered the source: it was a pile of, well, they weren’t sure what.

“What the heck is that?” Matt frowned, tilting his head and stepping closer. Nate grabbed him quickly, keeping the inquisitive young mind from actually reaching out and touching the pile of glistening gunk and hair.

“Dude,” Nate grimaced, but his eyes shone with curiosity, “don’t touch it.”

“Well how am I supposed to figure out what it is?”

“Let’s poke it with a stick!”

They both looked around. There were no trees around, and no sticks, so they were fresh outta luck on that one.

“Silverware,” Matt said quickly, “from dinner. Or a straw at least. There should be some of those.”

Nate nodded once and dashed away, throwing a “don’t touch it!” over his shoulder. Matt just rolled his eyes and turned back to the pile.

He couldn’t decide which was worse: the smell or the sight of it. Or the flies that were starting to circle.

Nate returned quickly, carrying a handful of plastic utensils, and Matt chose a straw and a fork, tearing them open and stooping closer to the pile.

“I just gotta say,” he smiled up at Nate, “for posterity, that I’ve been looking forward to something like this.”

“Like what?”

The pile wiggled a little as Matt poked it, proving too heavy to list and bending the straw. He switched to the fork instead, using the teeth to lift up a slimy strip of translucent… sludge.

“The chance to finally apply some science to the world of ‘monster hunting’,” he mumbled, licking his lips in concentration, and then regretting it when the smell stuck to his tongue.

Nate’s hand found his shoulder and gripped, as if ready to yank Matt backwards should the pile come alive and attack-

Suddenly, the bushes next to them hissed as something large darted practically across the boy’s shoes, vanishing around the corner of the air cooler. Both boys screamed and scrambled backwards.

Matt was the first to chase after the vermin, the mysterious pile forgotten. Nate whimpered his name as Matt leaned around the air conditioner, catching sight of a long, naked tail.

“It was just a rat,” he said, turning back to Nate. Nate shook his head, threw his hands into the air, and backed up.

“I’m out. Don’t like rats.”

“Don’t like -” Matt sputtered, picking up his utensils again. “You hunt _monsters_ but you don’t like _rats_?”

“Rats are dirty and gross, and probably eating our dinner as we speak,” shrugged the younger, heading resolutely back to the corner and their room. “Besides, I got to finish reading.”

“But,” Matt motioned for the mysterious pile again. “But - science! Science, Nate! You’re choosing a lame book report over science? Science?!”


	6. "None of this makes any sense," - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I spent several minutes trying to find the angstiest combination possible here, and I think "none of this makes any sense" and "you wouldn't like the truth" with Matt (or at least "Matt," if you guys want) and Nate should turn out interesting. (Sorry not sorry) If you guys are still taking these, of course.
> 
> TW for implied drugging/past rape

“None of this makes any sense!” Matt whined, barely catching the heavy door to the small-town pool-bar Nate was currently fleeing like he had spotted an Ex he had never called back or something.

“Well,” Nate laughed as he headed straight for the Firebird, the edges of his voice tight and shallow, “lucky for you, it doesn’t have to ‘make sense’! Sorry to disturb your inability to let things you don’t understand go to rest, big guy, but sometimes that’s just the way it is!”

Matt watched his little brother struggle to get his shaking hands to cooperate enough to jam the key into the lock. He thought back on the last few days.

The hunt they were on hadn’t been anything exciting, just a kitsune - an off brand werewolf who didn’t follow the moon’s cycles and eat brains instead of hearts - who had been targeting top of the class students to get to their stressed, juicy brains. They were in the middle of Nebraska, at an average sized town in an average sized city. Only a few victims had been killed this time before they had caught onto the pattern, and they had saved the latest, a pre-med student that had reminded Matt vaguely of Stephanie when she was in the middle of finals back at school.

Even the bar over his shoulder seemed normal. It wasn’t jammed packed, he didn’t recognize any signs of other hunters, the pool had been fun, the menu kinda nice, and the crowd pretty young, but that’s college towns for you. So he had no clue as to what was making Nate tremble so bad he dropped his keys.

“Damnit!” the younger swore, curling his hands into fists and leaning his forearms against the roof, his head cradled between them. He shifted from foot to foot, and Matt could practically see every muscle in his back under the streetlights from how tightly they were clenched.

“Here,” Matt said quietly, stooped below Nate to pick up the keys. Nate jerked backwards and shuffled away when he realized where Matt was, bumping into the car next to them.

“Dude,” Matt said again, edging back to his previous spot, hands raised, “what has got you so riled?” He probably looked foolish, treating Nathan Smith, an accomplished monster hunter and total badass like an injured animal, but Matt had a childhood of happily looking foolish if it helped pull his little brother out of whatever panic was clawing at him. He didn’t even notice anymore.

Nate didn’t respond, just kept fidgeting, head down and shoulders hunched. It was the classic “Nate’s lost control and is stupid embarrassed by it” pose, and if that didn’t feel like someone ripped Matt’s heart out, he wasn’t sure what would.

“Do you want to get out of here?” It wasn’t a vision, that much he knew. These days, those had been tied to very specific events, events that Matt sure has hell wouldn’t be able to miss when they happened. And they hadn’t. For once, he could be just a little thankful that Nate’s hallucinations actually had some kind of method behind them.

“Nate, you want to take a walk?” Sometimes tight spaces were a trigger for Nate, too many instances of being crushed by spring locks, and car movement could make him nauseous. Walking was a nice repetitive motion though, and sometimes distance from the original trigger helped.

Nate twitched at that, his hands wrapped around his wrists and rubbing.

“I’ll be okay,” he replied, and Matt just barely kept from scoffing. “Just - I’m fine.”

“Well you wanna do a few laps in the meantime?”

“I - damnit, the night is still young too. I just - hey, I heard the motel has PrimeTime, let’s catch some cheesy chick-flick and laugh until our guts fall out.”

Other times, Nate could be downright unpredictable.

Matt studied him, how he kept his hands coiled tightly and pressed into his lap, shoulders hunched. He was still hiding from something, and Matt wasn’t any closer to figuring out what it was.

“If you tell me what happened,” he inched closer, “I can help.”

“Nothing happened. It was an average bar, but I’m done, battery’s a little low, I guess. I just don’t like unguarded drinks, alright, it’s got nothing to do with you. it’s not your fault. Let’s just get to bed and crash and sleep it off before something kicks in. College kids, you know? Always getting into trouble.”

“Sleep what off?” Matt dropped his hands. “Are you hurt? Did you eat something funny?”

Nate blanched at that, suddenly turning ashen grey and green, and it was the only warning Matt had before he was on his knees a few steps away, gagging.

“Nate -!”

Nate’s scream got caught in his throat painfully, and Matt recoiled his hand quickly. He scooted to crouch in front of Nate, off to his periferal, easily seen without forcing Nate to move his head. His hands hovered, wanting to touch his brother, but after that scream he didn't dare it.

“Don’t fight it,” Matt said, voice somewhere between a command and an apology. Nate kept dry-heaving, even though Matt had just watched him annihilate a meaty sausage and onions dish with plenty of fries. “Nate, just let it out, man.”

Nate shook his head. He loathed puking more than most any act his body could perform. He was shaking all over, sweaty, and twitching his body was fighting itself so hard, but he would _not_ vomit.

Part of his brain said if he did, he’d get it out of his system. The rest of him knew it was too late for that anyway.

Course, Matt wasn't there when it had happened? What was happening? Had it happened again? Was that even Matt? If it was that big sweaty quarterback again with the scratchy sheets -

Finally, when the war tired him out too much to fight back, Matt scooped him to his feet and back towards the Firebird.

Matt. Not the other guy he had managed to not think of for a couple years now. Matt.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” His throat sounded about as open as a coffee straw.

“Nate, the truth.”

“You wouldn’t like the truth.”

Matt sighed, but closed the Firebird passenger door and glanced over the hood towards the bar.

All he knew was that he wasn’t letting Nate’s drink go unguarded ever again.


	7. “That isn’t an option.” - by Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I'm probs gonna regret this buuut) anger prompt 6 with Nate and Jonathan 👀

“Stay awake, you idiot, you hear me?” Nate snapped and put the last of quickly draining strength into dragging his partner along the ground, grunting and gasping for breath. The stitch in his side sent stabs of pain through his chest, but he ignored it and kept pushing.

“Nate…” Jonathan started, his voice thin and shaky. “Let go.” He fumbled with numb fingers going blue in the cold, trying to pry Nate’s hands off him.

But Nate held on tight.

“Shut up and focus on breathing,” he growled, jostling Jonathan a bit to keep his hands away. They were near the edge of the snow-laden forest, the branches overhead creaking in their frozen shells of ice as Nate stumbled towards the road somewhere beyond. The Firebird would be near.

They’d passed a hospital in the previous town.

They could make it in time.

But Nate was so tired, and his whole body shook with the cold. And they’d left a scarlet trail behind them, drug through the slush and snow and wet leaves. Jonathan’s face was nearly as pale and ashen as the clouds passing in front of the full moon overhead, the howling in the distance getting louder by the moment.

Just a little farther.

Finally Jonathan, his lower back hitting a sharp rock hidden in the folds of the snow, fell from Nate’s arms, onto his side and just managed to catch himself on one arm, the one that wasn’t mangled with teeth marks as wide as Nate’s iron knife. He cried out, the breath stolen from his lungs by the shock of the pain and the sheer cold biting into his skin.

“Nate,” he gasped, “get out of here, okay?” His swimming vision finally focused on his partner’s blood-smeared face. Nate was ragged, his own lips turning a shade of blue beneath the moonlight, and even without Jonathan’s weight added to his own, he might barely make it to the Firebird in time to escape the encroaching pack.

“Just go.”

But Nate - Jonathan could see the anger in his eyes burning so harsh that it stung - Nate grit his teeth and knelt down beside his friend. “That isn’t an option.” He grabbed beneath Jonathan’s arms again, hauled him up as high as he could, and started scrabbling in the direction of the road again just as the first of the werewolves lunged for them.

And sank its teeth deep into Jonathan’s ankle.


	8. "Go. You go and don't even think about coming back," - be Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “go. you go and don’t even think about coming back here” for... hmmm.... ooh, ro and a character of your choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, you’ve given me a terrible idea. Sort of a somewhat out of character “what if” kind of idea, as in “what if Ro didn’t know about Afton?”…

Matthew was aware, vaguely, of people shouting around him. Their voices high-pitched and desperate. Then there were hands tearing at him, pulling him back and shoving him away as Ro gasped for air. Already there were dark red marks showing in the skin around her neck, marks that would bruise with the shape of Matt’s fingers in time.

And as the patrons of the Roadhouse drew weapons from their sides, pistols and machetes all aimed at Matt, Nate shoved his brother back another step and stood in front of him. “Nobody touches him. Nobody!”

“He attacked her!” one of the hunters accused, face beet red with hatred, and Matt’s eyes widened, jaw hanging open. “He would’ve killed her!”

But they didn’t understand. Matt didn’t want to hurt Ro. He didn’t - he wouldn’t. He tried to get around Nate, to get to her, to tell her, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t. But Jimmy was kneeling over Ro and glaring up at Matt, his hulking frame shuddering with each angered breath, and Matt had the feeling that if he made one move towards her, the large man would snap his neck.

Ro was trembling on the floor, her fingers probing her throat gently as her mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to breathe, trying to speak. And Matt could see the tears rolling down her cheeks, the fear cracking like lightning behind her eyes as she tried to understand.

He’d been like a brother to her.

And now - those eyes flashed up at him, and while Nate kept his own gaze on the hunters around them, his back pressed to Matt’s chest as he tried to force him back towards the door, Matt felt the full weight of Ro’s anger.

“Go,” she wheezed around the swelling in her throat. “You go and don’t even think,” her voice broke, a pained expression twisting up her face, “about coming back here.”

All the fight left Matt’s body then as Nate all but shoved him out the door of the Roadhouse and towards their cars. The other hunters stood their ground, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hunt them down. They had to get out of there.

“Get in your car. Follow me,” Matt heard Nate barking in his ears. “Matt? Matt! Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Matt answered, somewhere outside of himself. “But I-”

“Just get in.” Nate opened the door of the Prius for Matt and kept a hold of his brother’s elbow to make sure he didn’t try to go for the Roadhouse again.

“But I didn’t-”

Nate sighed, the emptiness in Matt’s eyes stealing the last of his resolve. “Please,” he begged instead. “We’ve got to get out of here, okay? I know, I know you didn’t mean to, but we can’t tell them that. We can’t tell them what just happened, or they’ll kill you - they might do it anyway!” He grabbed the front of Matt’s shirt and shook him slightly. “You understand me? We. Have. To go.”

Slowly, so slowly that Nate wondered if Matt hadn’t heard him at first, his brother nodded, and they each got into their cars before, hitting the highway as fast as Nate dared to go. But glancing into the rear view mirror, just little stolen glimpses, Matt saw someone else looking back at him.

Glee shone back at him in his tear-filled eyes as Matthew held back the terrified sob trapped in his chest.


	9. "Do that again and you'll regret it," - be Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. “Do that again and you’ll regret it.”

Jonathan was young. He was barely pushing 20, he had hardly been on any hunts that weren’t centered around the almost-human vampires Gordon specialized in, and he was kind of foolish.

He’d heard that Nate kid say once, “monsters I get, humans are crazy,” and had laughed. Humans were crazy, sure, but they weren’t animals. They weren’t monsters. Jonathan had seen humans turn into monsters, he knew the difference.

He was also kind of foolish.

It had looked like an easy hunt at first. Just some local legend kicking around after some teens rumpled it’s undead feathers. Figure out who it used to be, and guide it towards the light. Jonathan had been deciding which of the cheap motels he was going to crash at for the night when Nate had texted him, under the pretense of showing him what hunters “really did,” and Jonathan had accepted. They met up, and Nate had given him the rundown, everything he knew, everything he had found, and how he had found it, very much amused at Jonathan’s starry eyed way of listening. Nate had read as younger than him, or his same age, with those big glasses and cocky smirk and silly faces. But he was hunting like a pro, or maybe Jonathan was just easily impressed. When they set out to the ghost’s hideout, Jonathan saw another side of Nate that he was genuinely surprised to see.

He was all business.

Maybe that’s why Jonathan hadn’t noticed the car around the corner of the building, the second set of tracks leading into the old farm house, the footsteps overhead that his brain had told him didn’t sound very ghost like.

He was either trying too hard, or was too comfortable stalking the night in Nate’s shadow.

But either way, another teen was dead, and his new partner had been thrown out a window.

And he sure as hell blamed himself.

* * *

“Hey,” Jonathan said quietly as he shut the motel door behind him, “let me look at that.”

Nate, who was still favoring his right arm - the arm that happened to have a huge gash in it - made a show of being furious with him as he threw his bag of supplies onto the bed and stormed to the bathroom.

He muttered something over his shoulder that Jonathan didn’t want to repeat. With the full knowledge of his screw up weighing on his shoulders, he had let himself fall onto the closest bed, hands still shaking, and nerves jumpy at every little sound the other - the hunter, made. Because Jonathan sure wasn’t a hunter. He was better described as a dead weight.

* * *

They had been given the case by a sheriff, someone Nate had rattled off a string of fake names to justify knowing. She was someone who had trusted them with the job, someone who had given them a chance, and Jonathan saw how eager Nate was to please her. And then Jonathan had gone and gotten someone killed.

She hadn’t reacted like he had expected, when he had stepped forward and said, voice shaking, “it was my fault. It was up to me to watch the perimeter and I didn’t. Every clue that someone else was in the house was there, I just didn’t see them.”

She had given him a brief retort, the kind that lasted shorter but cut deeper, and Nate hadn’t even looked at him the whole time.

He lead the way out without doing so, either.

* * *

He wasn’t drinking age, but Jonathan still followed Nate to the bar, offering to be the DD, still over eager to please and soothe the hunter’s temper. Nate had muttered something in response, but it wasn’t a “go jump off a cliff,” so Jonathan had bounded after him.

The bar wasn’t very full, and it was quiet, a suffocating cloud of mourning over the residents at the news that the town had lost a young life. It only made Nate drink harder, and made Jonathan feel sicker.

“Nate, I’m sorry,” he finally said, hoping Nate had relaxed enough to hear him out.

Instead, he rolled his eyes, huffed once, and pulled his drink closer.

“You don’t get to be ‘sorry,’“ he turned his dark eyes onto Jonathan. “I’m the one that called you, I’m the one that took a green nose on the hunt, I’m the one that thought you could do anything besides look sad. You don’t get to be sorry that you got some girl’s lungs ripped out.”

Everything around him spiraled, and Jonathan felt his face heat up as he battled tears.

“I know,” he whimpered, “but I am-”

“I don’t care.”

The blurring of color and emotions froze into sharp lines at those words, and Jonathan thought maybe he’d wish the floor would open up and swallow him. Everything was too sharp and too quiet at once, like the glass fibers of insulation across his skin, too soft and too sharp that he didn’t hear the other man approach until Nate had been yanked to his feet.

“That girl was my daughter you little son of a bitch!” the man yelled, barely towering over Nate. “What do you know?” he slurred, Jonathan easing off his stool behind the hunter. “You kill her?! You kill my niece?!”

Nate didn’t say anything, and Jonathan strained to catch sight of his face from his angle. Instead, Nate put his hands on the man’s beefy fists that were curled around his shirt.

“I just heard the news,” he said slowly, evenly. “I’m sorry.”

Big eyes red-rimmed with more than just tears, the man stared at Nate. He nodded, twice, and dropped his head and his hands. He half-turned away, and Nate did the same -

He sent the stool under him clattering to the floor when the man struck him so hard he went sprawling.

“You don’t get to be sorry!” the man screamed, spit flying out. Nate had caught himself on his hands, but was all tangled in his own legs and the stool, he had no chance of getting back up as the man took a step closer.

“You-!”

“Do that again,” Nate heard from above him, “and you’ll regret it.”

Frowning, head still spinning as he reclaimed oxygen, he turned and peered upwards. Over him stood Jonathan, fists clenched and shoulders pulled back. His green eyes were sparkling in the lights, cutting through the man’s emotional and alcohol induced haze. He was poised like a guard dog, big and mean, but too disciplined to attack.

For a flicker of a moment, Nate was 10 years old again, and his brand new big brother had seen him get pushed to the sidewalk for the first time.

The man backed away. Nate figured that taking on someone who was used to intimidating _vampires_ was a daunting task for anyone, and Jonathan watched him go. Nate had himself half-pushed back up when Jonathan turned back to him, pulling the stool from his boots and offering a hand to pull him the rest of the way.

Nate looked up at him. He took the hand, and let Jonathan carry his weight back to his feet.

The kid wasn’t a very good hunter, but he sure was no fool.


	10. "Look at you. Goodness, you're so cute!" - by Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I've got a terrible idea! Bliss 7, but it's a twisted conversation between Afton!Pat and Nate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7\. “Look at you… Goodness, you’re so cute.”
> 
> I love the way your brain works, friendo. Warning for general Afton grossness!

Nate woke in the night, another nightmare, standard fair, but rather than rolling over and going back to bed, he decided he’d shuffle to the bathroom, splash some cold water in his face and go out to find some early morning coffee. It’d be dawn in an hour anyway, no sense in trying to go back to bed.

As he leaned over the sink and scrubbed his hands over his face and the front of his hair, he sensed more than heard Matthew come to stand behind him. “Nightmares again?” Matt asked, his voice level and tinged with concern.

“Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary.” Not involving dead kids or animatronics - not another case for now. Nate snatched the towel from the rack and dried his face before his eyes caught Matthew’s in the mirror.

And realized something was very wrong.

Matt smiled, sideways and too wide and a little twisted. As Nate spun around, Matthew strode forward and reached up to touch the hair that had fallen in Nate’s eyes. “It’s getting long again, like I like it.” He stroked his fingers through the wet hair slowly. “When it’s short you look too much like John, but I guess that’s what dear daddy prefers, hm?”

Nate went very still, trying to figure out how he could incapacitate Matt, just long enough to wake him up, to - But Matt drew the pistol from the waistband of his sweatpants and pressed the end of the barrel just under Nate’s jaw, smirking at Nate’s breath caught in his chest.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get any bright ideas.” Matt pinched Nate’s cheek hard with the other hand and leaned closer. “Wouldn’t want to leave any bloodstains, after all.”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Nate dared, setting his jaw even as his whole body shivered when Matt pressed against him. “You wouldn’t have anyone to screw with anymore.”

“True,” Matt nodded and traced the barrel of the gun down Nate’s chin to his throat and following his collarbone to his shoulder. “But there are other ways I could make sure you don’t damage my little meat puppet. I just want to chat.”

He cocked his head to the other side. “As weak and pathetic as Matthew is, I’ve grown fond of…” His eyes flicked downward to where Nate’s hand gripped the end of the sink behind him, unable to move back because of it, “how _close_ we are now.”

He batted his eyes as Nate grit his teeth. “You know, I’m there, every time you hug him, brush shoulders, every time he holds you when you’ve woken up from a nightmare. I’m there.” The grin split wider, eyes unhinged. “I’m in his ear. Telling him to plunge his knife into your pretty brown eyes. He hasn’t yet, and I do commend him for his strength of will.”

Nate’s breathing quickened even as he tried to maintain control of it.

“I make him think about killing you quite often, actually. All the fun ways we could do it together.” He chuckled, deep in his throat. “He’s incredibly creative, you know.”

Finally, Matt moved back and gave Nate just enough room to breathe, never once moving the barrel of the gun from where it felt like it would leave a bruise in the skin of Nate’s shoulder. He licked his lips, watching Nate sway a bit, lightheaded from struggling to breathe. “Look at you… Goodness you’re cute.” Another sick grin, another wandering gaze. “I could just eat you up.”

“Stop,” Nate choked and barely resisted the urge to cover his ears. He couldn’t do this again - not after what happened at the camp, not if it was going to hurt Matthew too when he woke up.

“Oh, Nathan, this is never going to stop,” Matthew told him, voice dripping with false sympathy and saccharine venom. “Not until I have what I want, not until I watch the last of the life drain from dear, sweet Matthew’s eyes.” He tussled Nate’s hair again and used it to pull his head back, force Nate to look into his eyes. “But by that point, you might be begging me to kill him, just so you don’t have to put up with it anymore. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Nate didn’t care if he got shot. He was done listening to Afton twist up his brother like his own personal plaything.

He swiped a hand at the gun, knocking it aside in a flash and grabbing Matt’s arm to twist behind his back. Nate shoved him against the opposite wall of the bathroom. Matt’s forehead cracked hard against the tile, and when it did, he yelped and went limp in Nate’s grasp for just a moment before his head slowly raised again, eyes blinking and looking around wildly.

Matthew tried to move only to realize he was pinned.

“Nate? Nate - what’s going…” But he knew. He could tell by the way Nate shivered as he stood back from him, like he was repulsed by him. Slowly Matt’s hands curled into fists as he raised them to either side of his head and pressed his back to the wall. “No, I didn’t hurt you… Did I?”

“No,” Nate answered, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. He left the bathroom and grabbed his keys from the table.

“Wait,” Matt called after him, his voice choked with disgust as the memories of what Afton had done came back to him slowly, but Nate grabbed his boots from beside the door and left without another word. As the door slammed shut, Matthew slid to the floor in a heap, feeling very, very cold.


	11. "Somebody help me!" - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh.... maybe “I can’t see anything!” and “Somebody help me, please!” with Nate and Shady?

“I hate the sewers,” Nate grumbled, and Jonathan laughed. He earned a dull glare back, and Nate flung the maglight in his direction, thumping the giggling hunter in the chest as he put both hands on either side of the manhole and dropped his feet down onto the ladder.

Jonathan watched, eyes bright with glee, shining the light down ahead of his partner before following once Nate hit the bottom. The air grew thicker and cooler with every step, like they were descending into an ice freezer with it’s own couple dozen humidifiers.

“What do you want to bet the water is warm,” Jonathan breathed quickly, dropping from the last rung on the ladder into the ankle deep sludge below. “It’s not!” he barked, breathless, taking Nate’s hand and jumping onto the slippery walkways to either side of the tunnel. “It’s very much not,” he shook out, kicking the wetness from his boots.

He caught Nate’s satisfied smirk before smack his partner’s shoulder and pushing him ahead first.

* * *

They didn’t have long to walk - and they had only made it about ten steps before Jonathan was asking about the Ninja Turtles - before something crunched under Nate’s boot. He froze where he was, eyes slipping closed and lips tightening. Jonathan glanced down at his boot as Nate moved it, only hissing sharply through his teeth in any indication of what he had found.

“Do I want to know?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” Nate nodded, walking on and definitely not looking back.

They kept pushing, knowing that the animal skeletons meant they were getting close, at least.

A few turns later, and they were in the creature’s den, an unholy cathedral of bones, stolen loot from the victim’s houses, and no sign of their crocodile sized thief.

“Anything that eats pets deserves to die,” Nate said, heading in one direction while Jonathan went in the other.

“I love that your line is pets,” he muttered, shining his light on a silver picture frame among the pile of silverware and other … rich stuff. He felt Nate’s flashlight beam hit him, and turned to his partner. “You’re totally right,” he added quickly. “I’m just saying, it’s funny.”

Nate dropped the light.

“Someone is eating Fiddo, Shady,” he spit. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny,” the other muttered, turning to the main altar at the front of the large room.

“How is this -”

“Zip,” Jonathan said, and Nate was instantly quiet, watching him. Nate may have been the one with more experience, but he had yet to find someone who could match his partner in tracking skills, and that included knowing when someone - or something - was tracking them back. He watched Jonathan carefully, whose green eyes flickered around the room, following whatever invisible sign he had picked up on.

His head turned down the way they had come a split second before the roar thundered their way, and both hunters took off running.

The didn’t catch sight of the thing, but they didn’t need to, the oversized splashes it left all over the place all the evidence of it’s escape path they needed to keep chasing. After a few turns, it lead them towards a significantly larger tunnel, the kind that had a deafening river of freezing cold water probably 10 or 12 feet deep running through it.

“Holy -” Nate huffed as he skid to a stop, looking in every direction. “You think it can swim?”

“I don’t think it has to!” Jonathan cried, pointing his flashlight towards the ceiling, where the creature was slithering up a ladder and towards an escape hatch.

Nate drew his pistol and fired, the sound exploding around them and practically rocking the slick stones beneath them. The creature made it to the hatch and pushed it open, slipping into the sunlight.

“Well great,” Nate grumbled, “all this work and Splinter still gets away.”

But Jonathan just stared after it, squinty eyed, his head tilted. Nate glanced up at him.

“What?”

“It had plenty of time to get away,” he muttered over the rushing river. “Why did it wait for us to see it?”

Nate blinked at him. He opened his mouth to reiterate something about Jonathan thinking too hard, when something very solid and very fast collided with him from behind, knocking him to his face and sending a splash of icy water all over him. He floundered and pushed himself up, wiping the little needles of sewage from his face, when he realized his partner was missing.

* * *

The thing had a nest, or at least a partner. Maybe a baby, something it was teaching how to hunt. The exact details didn’t matter, because his partner had been pulled into an icy underground river 5 and a half hours ago, and if Nate found one more sealed entrance to that stupid river he was going to find some dynamite.

He had the maps of the sewers, he knew where his partner had been dragged under, it was just a battle of figuring out how to read the damn things to figure out where the torrential rapids might have taken him, much less actually finding an entrance to the tunnel that hadn’t been blocked off by the damn city for “safety.” Shady was a smart guy, big and strong and not prone to freaking out. He could do all those cool parkour moves, he could hold his breath for four minutes, he once ripped open a rabid kitsune while navigating a rope obstacle course (that had been quite the hunt)! He would survive this! Nate just had to track him down.

It took another 45 minute to find on old off shoot tunnel that wasn’t used anymore and lead back to the main funnel.

“JONATHAN!” Nate screamed before he even made it to the opening. The river had been lessened here, having been divided up into smaller branches - too small for his 6 foot forever partner to go down - and had been tapered down to something much more manageable.

At least that’s what he thought until Nate saw the old iron grating that had been installed to walk over or through whatever of the river remained.

He stomped on it, shining his flashlight at every spot, yelling for his partner. The grating ended where the shaft he was in narrowed down to two funnels so low he couldn’t fit, and it was pitch black within those.

“JONATHAN!?” Nate screeched again, searching desperately. If Jonathan wasn’t here then Nate didn’t know where he’d be. “Jonathan so help me God-!”

“Nate-!?” it was barely a cough, but Nate spun around so quickly he almost lost his footing, looking towards one of the small funnels. He caught a quick glimpse of white, pale skin, and ran there, sinking to his knees and sticking his head into the opening as far as he could go.

“Jonathan! Jonathan - God dude! You scared the shit out of me!”

Jonathan had been pinned in the funnel, the rushing water wedging him in there and making movement upstream far too much effort for his waterlogged and black and bruised body. A dark cut was on his head, and he barely had room to breath between the surface of the water and the metal grating. But he was alive, and he gave Nate a concussed grin.

“Thing… had a baby…”

“Yeah yeah, I got that, Sherlock,” Nate muttered, searching for any opening or weakness in the grating, anything he could use to get his partner out of there.

Nate turned away, heading back to the front of the room, when Jonathan shrieked.

“NO!” he cried, “No no no no-! Please, please - I can’t see anything!”

Nate spun back to him, reaching to try to touch the pale fingers Jonathan was gripping the grating with, flashlight aimed at him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Okay, okay, I’m right here, I’m right here!”

“Please - you gotta - you gotta get me out of here! Please!”

“Jonathan,” Nate called sharply, “I’m right here, man! I’m right here, Shady, I’m not going anywhere! Relax, man, relax!”

It broke Nate’s heart, seeing his goofy, spunky partner reduced to this, the shock fighting for control. He kept talking, kept trying to keep his voice heard over the water continuously rushing over and into Jonathan’s ears. It helped, a little, or Jonathan was loosing strength, but he calmed down again, and Nate left the flashlight with him, heading back for the duffle bag he had emptied the Firebird’s trunk into it. Even if he had to tear the metal grating apart with his shotgun, he’d do it.

He just had to get his partner out.


	12. "Get over here, you doof," - by Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2. “Get over here, you doof.” with Nate and Ro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like we need a not-angsty one now XD

Matt held one end of the rope while Nate held the other, and they both waited for Ro’s direction as she stood a few feet away and told them whether to give it more slack or raise it on one end. The summer heat was just beginning to turn into a nice, cool evening when Ro was finally satisfied that they’d hung the sheet level enough across the back wall of the Roadhouse.

Jonathan had parked the bed of his pickup beside the open back of Ro’s Jeep so that there was enough makeshift seating for everyone, while Stephanie set up the projector and speakers to play the movie once the sun went down.

“Oh, the snacks!” Ro gasped and stomped her foot. “Darn, I knew I was forgetting something!” She started to head back inside, but stopped when Nate darted towards the back door.

“I got ‘em, Ro.” Mostly he just wanted first pick of whatever goodies Ro had cooked up for them, but Nate also didn’t mind being helpful either (as long as he could hoard all the peanut butter cookies for himself).

So he dashed inside and shouldered his way into the kitchen where there was a big bowl of cheesy popcorn, a small cooler of assorted sodas, and, as he guessed, a big plate of different kinds of cookies and cupcakes.

Nate tucked the bowl under one arm, slipped the handle of the cooler onto the other arm and balanced the plate on one hand as he carefully edged out of the kitchen door and into the back hallway leading towards the door. But someone came out of one of the bathrooms, blocking Nate’s path.

He came up short, not wanting to bump into the larger hunter and spill all the snacks. “Oh hey, sorry. I’ll just, uh…” Nate froze when he saw who it was, a burly man with a scraggly gray beard, an ugly, scarred face he knew all too well as Caleb Parker - an old hunting buddy of his dad’s.

“Well, if it ain’t John Smith’s little boy as I live and breathe.” He sneered at Nate and continued to impose himself in the middle of the hallway so Nate couldn’t pass with all the food in his arms. “After all the stories I heard, I thought dear old dad kept you on a short leash these days.”

Nate swallowed around the lump in his throat. All the things he’d like to say or do, but with his arms full and his friends waiting on him outside…

“Caleb, you mangy son of a snake, move out of his way or I’ll have Jimmy throw you out on your pimply rear-end this instant!” a little voice snapped from behind the big bulk of a man, and they both turned to see Rosanna, hands on her hips and the last afternoon light shining behind her. Caleb didn’t move. “I’m sorry, honey,” she snapped, blinking at him with her long, dark lashes, “did I not speak in plain enough English for you? I said, get a move on!”

Finally, Caleb huffed and shouldered his way past Nate, trying to jostle the food from his arms, but Nate managed to hold onto everything, mostly out of sheer spite. And when he was gone around the corner, Nate looked back to Ro who was smiling brightly in triumph.

“Get over here, ya doof, everyone’s waiting,” Ro commanded, and Nate moved to her side where she tugged him down a few inches and gave him a lipstick-red kiss on the cheek. “Nobody gets to bully you in my bar, got it? They mess with you, you direct ‘em straight to me.”

Nate couldn’t help his look of surprise, but he nodded. “You got it, El Pansino.”

She grinned again and led the way into the backyard where their movie night awaited them. And Nate settled into the pick-up bed alongside Jonathan who grinned and poked the lipstick mark on his cheek. “Did Ro have to save your butt from another hunter again?”

“Shut up,” Nate said, swiping at him and shoving a peanut butter cookie in his mouth. “Watch the movie!”

And Jonathan just snickered.


	13. "Open your eyes!" - by Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How abt some straight up horror-angst w/ 13 Bliss and 15 Terror on a hunt (yes I'm finding a way to turn the happy prompts angsty, what did you expect?). Idc which of the assorted hunter teams you do it for.

“What the lanta is a ‘tulpa’?” Jonathan asked, dropping the book he was reading and staring owlishly at Nate, his head tilted. Nate glanced up at him and nearly spit out the sushi he had just crammed into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, his face getting red, before he swallowed enough to be able to talk.

“It’s a thoughtform,” he grinned, Jonathan blinking at him. “Sometimes people think hard enough about something and it manifests.”

Jonathan’s head cocked the other direction, but this time he looked more personally insulted than confused.

“So if enough people think about something, it just _becomes_? How is that fair? How does that work? Why aren’t there a hundred anime _wifus_ running around?”

This time, Nate did spit sushi all over the place, dropping his head as he cackled and choked on little grains of sticky rice, Jonathan slowly grinning at him.

“Dude, just imagine comic-con.”

Nate was turning blue he was laughing so hard, throwing his head backwards and almost flinging himself off the chair. Jonathan just smiled, turning back to his book and picking up another roll. Nate was wiping tears from his eyes, and Jonathan decided to keep his comments about Pokemon to himself.

* * *

It wasn’t a tulpa. It wasn’t Bloody Mary either, and Nate was really tired of being wrong in his research.

The clues were there and should have added up. The victims were all teens, in that age of playing with ouija boards and trying the “Bloody Mary” game at sleepovers just for a couple of cheap scares. All of their eyes were missing, having been cut out almost surgically, but only one had little flakes of glass left behind. Nate had thought it was a Bloody Mary Tulpa, since one of the families had been accidentally using some potentially potent witchcraft items in their home “cleansing,” which may have fed the thing.

“It’s not the sage!” Jonathan had barked, running to where Nate stood flat against the wall, hands pressed into the surface behind him, eyes screwed shut. “I - I don’t think it’s a tulpa, man. I think it’s actually Bloody Mary.”

Well no shit, Sherlock.

* * *

Nate hated being unable to see. His whole life he’d been plagued by the most gruesome, torturous scenes the likes of which not even Ted Bundy could dream up, and closing his eyes had never helped. Recently, however, they’d gotten worse, so much worse, more than just a spooky dead girl in the corner and screams echoing in his ears. Now, he was feeling metal nuts and bolts screwed into his skin, feeling cold metal ribs squeeze around his body, and sometimes his hands still ached from where he felt every finger get popped out of socket.

But he could usually open his eyes and find something else to look out, something else to focus on, some other stimulus to out match the ones ripping into his skin and eyes and ears.

Now, he couldn’t even do that. All because some little ghost decided to haunt him.

 _“Open your eyes,”_ the voice said, and Nate pressed them closed even tighter in silent protest. He was in a hotel room, Jonathan had pushed his bed into the corner for him to curl up on, and turned the TV on nice and loud to try to distract him. He had gone back to that damn antiques store to figure out why the haunting had started there, and Nate was a spiralling mess left behind to blindly fumble around for his own pieces.

His phone - he grappled for it and set it into his lap, pulling his legs up tighter to his chest - rang, and he hit the button. The call went dead. Damnit!

_“Open your eyes!”_

He knew Jonathan had left, he knew the room was empty, but he couldn’t reply, couldn’t give away the way his head was screwed up. His hallucinations weren’t anyone else’s problem-

_“He’s coming for you!”_

That one almost worked, and Nate caught himself just in time, clamping his hands over his eyes to keep them closed.

“You’re just a spoiled brat! No one is here!”

The bed beneath him quaked, and Nate almost looked around as he flailed - almost.

“Electrode, Diglett, Nidoran, Mankey, Venusaur, Rattatta, Fearow,” he quoted, slowly, cautiously uncoiling from his corner to find the closest pillow. “Pidgey  
Seaking, Jolteon, Dragonite, Gastly…” his iron knife was in the holster, and he pulled it out as he yanked the pillow forward and gutted it, tearing into the cheap fabric and ripping it apart. “Ponyta, Vaporeon, Poliwrath, Butterfree…” Once his blindfold was finished, he tied it around his head as tight as he could, twice, securing it.

He could feel his hands start to shake, and someone shrieked in his ear.

“Whatever you do, do NOT open your eyes!” Jonathan had told him, and Nate pushed himself back into the corner, singing the lyrics even louder.

Something drug a knife up the wall, closer and closer to him, cutting into drywall and old wallpaper, and Nate scrambled for his own knife, clutching it in one hand, the other pressed against the wall. If he let go of it now, he’d lose himself completely.

 _“You have such beautiful eyes,”_ a voice said from across the room, and he flinched that direction, knowing that accent, knowing that saccharine tone.

“Stay away from me,” he hissed, finger tips pressing into the wall that now felt like flesh. Blood was roaring in his ears, and his heart was hammering. Still holding the knife, he pressed his fingertips into his eyes through the blindfold as he shook and his breathing grew more and more shallow.

_“Open your eyes!”_

Nate screamed as the knife that had been dragging up the wall stabbed into his thigh.

“ _Oh Nate-o,_ ” Afton smiled, and Nate felt the man’s hands push his legs down into the mattress, twisting the knife imbedded there. Long, cold fingers dug under the edges of the blindfold. _“Come on, Nate-o_ ,” Afton purred, and Nate convulsed under his hands. “ _Open your eyes!_ ”

“ _Open your eyes_!” Mary screamed. “ _Open your eyes_!” Afton screamed. “ _Open your eyes_!” Jonathan screamed. “ _Open your eyes_!” Mary screamed. “ _Open them! Open them! Open them! Open them! Open them!_ ”

“Nate!”

Nate hit the wall so hard he sent a flash of stars before his vision, curling in on himself and wheezing for air.

“Hey, hey,” something dipped into the mattress near him and he flinched, “easy, easy! Breathe, Nate, just breathe.”

Still trembling, Nate turned his head towards the voice, something in his lap blinking at him. It was his phone -

He looked up quickly, seeing Jonathan smiling at him. He saw Jonathan. “It’s okay,” he smiled. “It’s okay, I got her. I found the mirror, made her look at herself, it’s okay, she’s gone.”

Nate’s gaze drifted from him to the room, still feeling far too detached from it for his liking. Jonathan shifted a little, picking up the gutted pillow.

“Dude,” his green eyes turned to Nate, and Nate thought he might go swimming in them just for the heck of it.

He shrugged. “I improvised.”


End file.
